


Pretense

by Kyes (Inwe)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-06
Updated: 2011-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inwe/pseuds/Kyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What started as a simple 'five times' fic, turned into 13k fic which takes place after First Class and focuses on Charles dealing with what happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grains of Sand

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is my view on the beach divorce.  
> Unbeta'd for the time being. X-posted on my livejournal (so it's possible you've already seen this).

I.

In the future, when the past stops being a dictator, Charles will tell one of his students that breathing is a groovy thing and that it shouldn’t be taken for granted. He will see the humor in his words, deem his statement completely random (while it’s anything but _random_ ) and the past will become redundant, but not forgotten.

 

 

II.

He’s not okay in 1962, far from it. Charles is a fool, a blind and naïve one. _Blind_ , because he doesn’t see half of the evil the world has to offer and _naïve_ because he thinks that the evil he _does_ see can turn into something good, something worth believing in.

 “It’s alright… It’s alright.”

How in the world did he manage to let those particular words slip past his lips? He’s a liar now and a horrible one because he immediately senses Moira’s disbelief as she touches him. He can feel guilt radiating from her body, more than enough to make him wince.

Erik’s the one who gets his undivided attention and somehow he succeeds in forgetting about the agonizing sensation that _one_ stray bullet left in his back. He even manages to push the complete lack of feeling in his legs to the back of his mind. Erik’s leaving.   _Leaving_. He struggles to breathe, but the only thing he gets in return is sheer panic, _surging_ through his body.

Erik talks, as if his life depends on it and maybe it does, because this is everything Erik believes in and while his ideals don’t seem to be on the line (because the confidence in Erik’s voice supports his every word), they are somehow in desperate need of defense. The words don’t matter, it’s the charisma that will draw mutants to Erik. It’s the fear of being excluded, the knowledge that humans are more inclined to be afraid and mistreat a mutant, that will draw them to Erik.

Charles seeks comfort in the thought that Erik would risk his life to protect them.

“Breathe,” Moira whispers into his ear while Erik talks about acceptance and forming a society, one without humans in it.

“The humans have played their hand. Now we get ready to play ours. Who’s with me?”

Erik’s words sting and Charles is… _scared_ , for the first time in what feels like ages. It doesn’t even compare to what he felt when he saw that coin heading for Shaw’s brain, _his_ brain. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt. He’s not scared for his own safety. He’s _terrified_ because he has no idea what Erik will do and who he will become in the future, other than someone he’s not. Charles has seen beauty in Erik’s heart and it would be a shame to lose that, to lose any kind of beauty the world has left for that matter. Erik’s nothing like Shaw, but if Erik _thinks_ he is, Charles fears what could happen when a human gets in his way.

 _Who’s with me?_

 _Raven_. He’s going to lose her too and he gets it. He _understands_ why she will take Erik’s hand and leave. Instead of going straight to Erik, she kneels down beside him, but Charles already knows it’s a goodbye and that he may never see her again (and if he _does_ see her again, it will not be the same). The only common thing that lies ahead of all of them is change.

“You… you should go with him,” Charles manages to tell his sister, “It’s what you want.”

“You promised me you’d never read my mind,” she replies, sadness audible in her voice.

“I promised you a great many things I’m afraid. I’m sorry.” He _is_ , he really is, because he failed as a brother and even more as a friend.

Charles kisses Raven’s hand, a token of a sibling bond that may never be the same again.

“Take care of him,” she tells Moira, like a sister would.

As a final goodbye he sends a wave of warmth and hopes it will convey how he feels about her. _Don’t change, you are truly beautiful, Raven_. Charles is not sure if she hears his thoughts, but he absolutely hopes she feels the sentiment behind them. When she tells Hank to be proud of who he is, Charles can only hope that she will be proud of herself as well, because she deserves every bit of happiness and all the things he couldn’t give her.

He tries to breathe even while he wonders if the effort’s really worth it. There’s a hole in his gut, much bigger than the one in his back and it aches like nothing’s ever ached before.

They’re just _gone_.

 

 

III.

Moira, Hank, Alex and Sean are all still here, on this godforsaken beach with him, because they place their trust in him, because they believe there’s a future for them if they stay.

But w _hy?_ It’s not just the pity party they’re throwing, even if pity seems to be on top of everyone’s list at the moment, maybe even on his own.

Charles ignores the attention his body’s screaming for and focuses on the voices he hears. They tell him everything will be okay, but there’s no certainty even if it sounds like that. Sometimes he hates being a telepath. His ability won’t allow him to cling to just possibilities and see them as certainties. Realization tells him that he might _die_ on this beach.

It’s not the pity his friends feel that makes him want to survive, it’s the fact that they want him to be okay, that they _don’t_ _want_ to pity him.  

He moves, to convince his friends that he’s fine, doesn’t need the hospital Moira speaks of, but fails miserably. For five seconds he manages to believe the feeling in his legs isn’t remarkably absent and that he can get up and walk away from all of this.

Even the strength Hank supports him with or the sympathy both Alex and Sean send his way aren’t enough to change reality.

“Wait. Charles, don’t move, okay?”

Hank’s words would be funny in an ironic way if Charles wasn’t feeling so miserable.

“Actually, I can’t… I… I can’t feel my legs.”

He repeats the words and hopes that when doing so the meaning behind them will somehow change or disappear.

 

 

IV.

There’s pain, a lot of it and breathing becomes harder every passing second. He feels Moira’s grasp on his hand and she squeezes it, but still, nothing changes. Realizing his eyes are squeezed shut he tries to alleviate the worry the others are feeling by opening them again. The first expression he sees is Hank’s. The young man’s clearly trying to stay calm for his sake, but Charles can still feel the dread overwhelming the young genius. It’s like he’s not in control of his own powers, like he feels _everything_ without even trying.

The worst pain’s the emotional kind. It’s knowing that nothing will ever be the same again and feeling his own thoughts on everyone else’s mind as well. The worry, the anger, the pity, the sadness,… They’re just thoughts, not certainties, ignited by fear. What he reads when he tracks Hank’s thoughts comes a little closer to what he himself is experiencing.  While Alex and Sean are trying to find a way off this beach, Hank’s considering the future, Charles’ future. He’s more realistic and less hopeful than the others even if the younger man tries to hide it. Hank grasps the meaning of his words and sees the possible consequences, maybe even more than Charles does.

Getting shot in the back and not being able to move your legs as a result isn’t exactly your averageinjury, even if you’re accident prone. This can’t be good either way. Even _if_ Charles regains full mobility this can and _will_ affect him, more than he wants to admit. It’s already affecting him.

Things will change for all of them. _Who is he kidding?_ Things have already changed.  He likes to pretend that everything will be okay, even if the future doesn’t look very bright. Charles isn’t lying to himself, he’s clinging to hope. There’s a subtle difference.


	2. The past knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I mention suicidal thoughts, but I doubt there's anything triggery here.

I.

 

 _Erik’s here_ , _but then he’s not_.

The more Charles becomes aware of his surroundings, the less he can feel the older man’s presence. Erik’s leaving again, before any words can be exchanged, before Charles can tell him how much he wants Erik to stay. It’s ridiculous how much this makes him want to cry.

He’s almost never alone. There’s always someone sitting in one of the chairs next to his bed when a lucid moment rears its ugly head. Charles is sure they have some sort of schedule, some sort of plan to make it all better. He’s also certain that Erik’s not on that particular list of people assigned to babysit him. It’s _hilarious_ really.

 _Never alone_ , but he feels empty no matter who’s sitting beside him. It’s not that he isn’t grateful, but somehow feeling alone hurts more when you’re surrounded by people. The self-pity he’s feeding on disgusts him and half of the time he wants to close his eyes and pretend the world doesn’t exist. Of course they force him to stay awake long enough to answer questions and listen to whatever the doctor and nurses have to say, but Charles simply doesn’t care about any of that.

 

 

 

II.

 

Charles knows before they tell him. His doctor isn’t hard to read even without his telepathic ability.

He will never walk again.

Dr. Harris doesn’t quite put it like that, but he can pluck it from the man’s brain. It’s not exactly a surprise. While the man talks about slim chances, Charles knows the good doctor doesn’t buy it himself. How he wishes he could just shut down his mutation and hide, make it all go away. Genuine sympathy emanatesfrom the man’s voice and somehow it’s so different from the pity the others throw at him that it’s slightly comforting. He’s not sure he wants to allow himself that tiny bit of comfort because _re_ -realization will be more painful if he dares go there.

Harris mentions one of his colleagues, a Dr. Daniels, and Charles knows where this is going.

“You want me to talk to a psychiatrist,” he blurts out. His doctor doesn’t even look surprised, he must be getting used to him poking around in his brain (without even knowing it).

“I want you to _consider_ talking to someone who can help you adjust. I can assure you that she has your best interest at heart. Of course it’s still your personal choice in the end, but I strongly advise to give her a chance and make your decision based on at least one appointment.”

There’s a short silence before Charles gives the man a nod. “Fair enough.” It’s not fair at all, but the man’s not going to give up after just one conversation. The sooner he can get this over with, the better.

He used to have all these routines, some more important than others, but all a fundamental part of him. Now he’s just that poor man in room 216 who can’t move his legs. When did his life disappear like that? It _should_ matter and he _should_ be screaming because that’s what his mind subconsciously tells him to do, but he can’t bring himself to open his mouth. Maybe it’s denial. The truth is that, today, Charles still doesn’t care.

 

 

 

III.

 

Every time he wakes up he startles. It’s like he needs time to adjust to the entire hospital. _Adjust_ , the word everyone’s using around him, the word that makes him want to puke. Before that day on the beach he’d never considered the possibility of needing solitary confinement as much as air to breathe, or maybe more. He tries to adjust to the voices and the feelings accompanying them, _he has to_ , because if he doesn’t he’s sure his head is going to explode.

There’s a depressed teenage girl two floors up and she’s considering suicide. Charles wants to help her, make her feel better, but doesn’t see how he can (he would be a hypocrite). He doesn’t allow himself to block the girl’s, _Anna_ ’s, thoughts because he would never forgive himself if she decided to go throughwith it. At least this way he can intervene if absolutely necessary.

Anna’s a mutant.

Adjustment is a limited matter, but he manages to block most of the other people once he’s fully awake. It takes a while and it makes him feel a little detached, but Charles can’t bring himself to care.

 

 

 

IV.

 

Hank doesn’t visit, not because he doesn’t want to. The young man can’t keep telling everyone he’s wearing a costume. Charles understands and it just reminds him that Erik had a point. He refuses to believe in a complete lack of harmony, but acceptance won’t be easy.

He sends Moira away. He appreciates her presence, but her visits seem to make everything worse… for _her_. Just seeing him quadruples her emotions. It’s selfish too, because the guilt he picks up when she’s near is unbearable. Charles doesn’t want to deal with that. _Not yet_ and maybe _not ever_.

Alex and Sean try to distract him most of the time as if they know it’s the only form of comfort Charles will accept. They bring books and Charles thanks them, not just for the reading material.

Usually Sean fills the room with his voice and Alex just contributes where he can. Even the silences don’t get awkward, in fact, they feel strangely comfortable.

Still, Charles can’t bring himself to engage inconversation (the kind carrying actual content). He _can’t_. Maybe he does care, but not right now. It doesn’t seem like he _can_ care.

 

 

 

V.

Laura Daniels is a psychiatrist, and from what he gathers from her memories, a very good one. _Lucky him_. He tries not to project the sarcasm.

“I really don’t think this is necessary,” he tells her but she doesn’t buy it. Of course she doesn’t, but Charles _wants_ her to buy it so he can believe it as well. “I’m okay.” _There_ , a blatant lie.

Somehow her expression reads: _good for you_ , as if she’s returning the sarcasm. “That’s not my first question. In fact, I don’t need you to tell me how you are feeling and I’m not particularly interested in whether or not you think this is necessary,” she says instead.

 _Okay, direct and unconventional. A challenge, then_. Charles doesn’t reply, instead he tries not to look at the woman in front of him as if she’s grown a second head. He doesn’t want to know what that would mean for his telepathy.

“Acceptance isn’t the first step,” she continues, “a common misconception.”

Charles gives her a look, he doesn’t want to play this game.

“I have to get over myself first, correct?” _More sarcasm_ , he’s getting surprisingly good at this. Charles agrees with his own words, he’s in denial and in a place he doesn’t want to be in. He _knows_.

“That’s not what I had in mind, but if you’re going to be blissfully ignorant about what’s happening here, then it’s going to become increasingly difficult for you to cope. If you believe that you need to get over yourself first, we can make that a priority.”

 _Blissfully ignorant? Really?_

“Excuse me?” The words come out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

This approach can’t be part of any educational curriculum. Still, she has a degree and he can feel the optimistic vibes she’s broadcasting without really trying. It’s a little unsettling really.

Maybe talking to this woman _once_ won’t hurt and maybe, just maybe, she has a point. She’s not being unprofessional when she refuses to sugarcoat her words, she’s just... exactly what he needs, a good kick so he can finally stop being a petulant child.   _This isn’t the end of the world,_ but what if it still feels that way?  Charles doesn’t know what he wants, _cares_ about right now. He refuses to cry.

 

 

 

VI.

 

Charles wakes up in the middle of the night.

 _Alone. Forgotten._

It’s Anna, unknowingly broadcasting her pain.

 _End it_.

 _‘You’re not alone,’_ he sends her as if those words change everything. They remind him of Erik, of failing, of a past that has shown him the opposite of those words. Yet, he still uses them as if they’re natural, as if his belief in them is still deeply rooted in his mind.

 _Where? How?_

Charles doesn’t know what to send back. _I’m a telepath? I can read your mind? It’s a groovy telepathic mutation?_ It’s not really. ‘It’s more a tele _pathetic_ kind of story’, he thinks, but doesn’t broadcast. He chuckles sardonically, because his thoughts tend to be ridiculous these days.

Anna stops projecting her feelings as if her life depends on it, as if she’s looking for that one helping hand. She stops, but Charles can still sense her even if the connection’s not as intense anymore.

There’s _relief_. He doesn’t even realize he’s drifting off again until a knock on his door startles him.

 _‘Anna?’_ he thinks.

The door opens in response and the girl walks in as if she knows the room better than the hospital personnel, as if she’s been here before on multiple occasions. He really hopes not. She sits down in the chair to his left.

“You’re like me,” she says.

Anna shows him what she can do. He _sees_ , because she’s willing to let him inside her head. She’s a breathing magnetic compass.

“I can’t always control it.”

Charles sees images now, of Anna sleepwalking and literally following her dreams, of arguments and difficulties, of discovering her powers and of parents who love her but don’t have the tiniest idea what their daughter is capable of.

“It guides me,” she continues and she doesn’t seem to expect him to reply, which Charles is more than grateful for.  

He’s good with words, but not when he doubts them.

He sees doctors now, and so called friends telling her she’s a freak.

Anna’s far from confident, but when her ability manifests itself she learns how to follow her instincts, like a pull she can’t ignore, like there’s sudden confidence. The feeling that she has to do this, be herself, is the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

It explains how she found his room this easily.

“You were… in my head?”

“Telepath,” he offers, the word accompanied by the tiniest of smiles.

She’s young, but not vulnerable, just misunderstood. Charles can feel her pain, the rejection and the worries and the will to end it just to find peace again, but he also sees a different side now, a rather strong one. While she wants to give up, she just won’t. She wants to be stronger than those resorting to words like freak or abnormal.

Anna notices the chessboard on the small table near the window. It’s been collecting dust for more than two weeks now. She doesn’t have to ask.

“I play,” he answers her unspoken question.

 

 

 

 

VII. 

Charles can feel his old friend’s presence before he wakes up. When he opens his eyes he can just see the man’s back.

“Stay.” The least he can do is try, Charles decides. “Please,” he adds as an afterthought, without sounding like a beggar.

Much to his surprise, Erik turns around and makes his way back to the chair he was sitting in just moments ago. Charles reaches for Erik’s hand and the older man lets him. Watching his old friend in silence, Charles can’t help feeling overwhelmed by emotions that come in abundance these days. Erik’s not wearing the bloody helmet.

“Why?” Erik asks. He clearly isn’t referring to why Charles wants him to stay. ‘ _Why are you even talking to me after what happened_?’ he projects.

“Anger won’t return the feeling in my legs, Erik.” There’s no blame in his tone, just defeat and it both shocks and scares Erik. It leaves him completely speechless, because this is not the Charles he used to know. This is not the old friend who helped him control his ability.

“How’s Raven?” Charles asks. He won’t let these emotions get to him, he won’t cry.

“She misses you, but I don’t think she’s ready yet.” Erik doesn’t elaborate, but Charles knows what he’s thinking. _To see me… like this_.

“Why are you talking to me as if I’m not the one who put you here.”

 _Because you’re my friend. Because I miss our conversations_.

“You didn’t.” It’s not really a lie, Charles tells himself, but it’s not the truth either.

“If you’re claiming that this was an accident then I’m afraid your definition of the word is up for discussion.”

“I’m not claiming anything. I just…” Charles trails off. The conversation they’re having is tiring and, frankly, he doesn’t see the use. He just wants to go back to their common ground, if only for today. He’s certain they had a thing called common ground at one point.

Charles _cares_ , more than he’s willing to admit.

“Stop pretending, Charles,” Erik tells him while letting go of his hand and getting up from his seat.

He _should_ , he _knows_. Only, pretending seems to make everything easier. Erik doesn’t see the tears that run down Charles’ face when he leaves.

 


	3. Moving forward

 

I.  

Hank greets him as if he’s a long lost friend. It doesn’t feel right. Charles deems his own ideals laughable now, at the very least. He just wanted to help and his students are still expecting him to be their anchor. Charles doesn’t want to burst their bubble, but it’s ridiculous to expect advice from a piece of furniture because that’s exactly what he’s become.

“It’s good to be home,” he lies. What’s so good about going from one prison to another?

Yes, he’s a telepath, a very powerful one even, but that doesn’t change the fact that spending your days in a wheelchair, limiting every single plan your brain cooks up, is kind of a downer on the most optimistic of days.

 

 

 

II.

 

The students try to be subtle about it, but the harder they try, the less they do that particular word justice. Charles knows they’re keeping a close eye on him, he knows they’re taking turns staying home. Hedoesn’t blame them and he can even bring himself to appreciate the gesture, but he still hates, with every fibre of his being, that it has come to this.

 _Not hovering_ means staying within hearing range. At least one of his students is always only a single room away. It doesn’t matter that he can use his telepathy if there’s a problem. What if he falls, hits his head and can’t reach out using his gift? At least now they might hear a thud if he fractures his skullthanks to some foolish attempt at normalcy.

 _Not hovering_ means a lot of unnecessary smiling. Charles makes them talk about their problems and worries anyway, but those conversations stay short, _too_ short. _It’s okay, professor. It’s just stress_. While they’re trying to include him in their conversations and trying to shield him from any form of pressure at the same time, Charles can’t help the feeling that he can’t stand this new artificial environment.

 _Not hovering_ consists out of taking care of little things, household chores, before Charles can take care of them, before he can even think about them.

 _Not hovering_ means looking for and _finding_ a mutant physical therapist. He detests the exercises (and maybe even the man himself for pushing him this hard), but he knows they’re necessary. The only real problem is that they remind him of being helpless. He trains, so he can come a little closer to the opposite. New doors might open and his life might get a little easier. He clings to that.

 

 

 

III.

Charles doesn’t want to look at Hank’s designs for a metal-free wheelchair. _Metal-free_. Going down that road means reopening wounds that are still too fresh, but instead of explaining how he feels about that particular subject, Charles inspects the plans Hank offers him. The beauty of both the designs and the gesture itselfaren’t enough to make Charles smile, not genuinely anyway. He gives the young scientist a smile because it’s the right thing to do and because it’s the least Hank deserves, but on the inside his heart aches.

 

 

 

IV.

When Moira visits the mansion she’s impressed by Hank’s (early) incarnated design, but she refuses to mention it because the guilt’s still too fresh. As she pushes the wheelchair forward she notices the man in it isn’t paying a lot of attention to his surroundings, Charles is completely lost in thought. Is he thinking about how he’d rather feel the grass under his feet instead of… Is he ignoring the domain surrounding the mansion because it hurts to be reminded of guiding the students here? He must miss running laps. Moira really doesn’t want to think about all of that, but it’s time she faces her fears.

She starts talking about the school and even manages to ask a question without sounding desperate in any way.

When she stops pushing his wheelchair she’s unsure how to continue the conversation.

They both crack a joke, but deep down her heart’s not in it that much and she knows it must be worse for Charles.

Charles gets serious and looks straight at her, the importance of what he’s about to say obvious. “Moira, for us anonymity will be the first line of defense.”

“I know. They can threaten me all they want. I’ll never tell them where you are. _Ever_.” She means every word, but it would be naïve to promise certainties when it’s impossible to see the future and provide all the right answers. She will do everything in her power not to betray Charles.

“I know you won’t. _I know_.” Charles leans forward and kisses her.

Before she forgets, she knows the kiss means goodbye.

 

 

 

V.

It’s easy to take everything for granted. It’s easy to walk through life without focusing on those things that allow us to be blissfully ignorant.

He remembers getting a kick out of feeling responsible, out of being useful in general. In retrospect, it’s both selfish and hypocritical. Every single time he needs someone to help him out these days he refuses the offered hands and ignores the kind words. The looks on their faces alone are enough to make Charles feel worse, let alone the thoughts. The thoughts get unbearable.

There’s no choice now and Charles knows it, his students know it. Life’s supposed to be easy. You get up in the morning, go to the bathroom, have breakfast and do all those other easy and necessary tasks. Charles’ life stopped being easy when that bullet entered his back and severed his spinal cord. These days, even turning on his side in bed seems like a herculean task. He misses being completely independent.

During his first week back at the mansion he feels more helpless than ever before. He collects more bruises than he can bear witness and when he presses a finger to the ones he can’t feel, histhroat constricts. He forgets about the chair’s brakes twice within the first week and Charles knows that Hank wonders if he’s just _forgetting_ or rather _ignoring_ the entire chair and its brakes and by extension his handicap. It’s a bit of both he admits to himself, and only to himself.

“Thank you,” Charles says, trying not to sound embarrassed.

“Don’t mention it, professor.”

It’s week five and he stops forgetting about the bloody brakes. Little things like needing Hank’s help to retrieve something from the top shelf don’t cut him to the bone anymore. The wheels of his chair don’t get stuck nearly as much as before and navigating through the mansion becomes second nature. There’s an elevator now and a ramp near the front door. Almost everything gets a little easier, but he still wonders if it’s all worth the trouble.  

Charles drops the book Hank just gave him on his lap before wheeling to his desk.

They have more in common than their love for science now. Hank can’t hide his mutation and Charles can’t hide his handicap. It’s like they’re both in the same boat, one that looks an awful lot like a sinking ship.

They both miss Raven and it’s ironic. On the one hand they can’t blame her for leaving, but on the other hand they can't help the anger they feel.

“What’s on your mind, Hank?” Charles asks carefully, indicating one of the other chairs near his desk with a wave of his hand. Hank sits down almost immediately, grateful the chair’s still able to carry his weight after the transformation.

“Mutant and proud,” Hank huffs, “unless you’re a telepath and can enter minds. Then you ought to stay out of people’s heads. Unless you look like a blue monster and there’s a distinct possibility people will come after you with pitchforks. At least she can stillhide. She was wrong too.”

He gets a soft smile in return. “I’m afraid we were all wrong that day.”

“We were,” Hank concedes, “I'm an idiot.”

“I miss her too, Hank.”

 

 

 

 

 

VI.

The news spreads stories of atrocities committed by a small group of mutants. They mention a leader who goes by the name Magneto and is capable of manipulating metal.

These stories can’t be about Erik. Surely this cannot be the Erik he knows, whose mind he felt and whose emotions he experienced as his own. This is wrong and Charles can’t get himself to believe the words. Erik's doesn't just bomb buildings for the fun of it.

Unless… this is just another part of change. Maybe he’s even more naïve than people already think he is.

The day Erik returns is a peaceful day, a quiet day. Charles is in the kitchen preparing a simple meal when Azazel teleports his old friend inside.

Somehow Charles manages not to drop the cup he’s holding.

“Erik?”

“We need your help.”

Charles supposes he should be grateful Erik doesn’t beat around the bush. It makes uneasy conversations a little more bearable.

He really can’t help himself. “The infamous leader of The Brotherhood needs my help?” Sarcasm sticks to every word.

 _Where were you when we needed you, Erik? You just left. It seemed so easy for you._ _  
_

“We’re in danger, Charles. Not just us. _You_. _The children_.”

Erik still knows how to get his attention, at least that didn’t change.

“This is beginning to sound a lot like emotional blackmail, my friend.”

The young professor doesn’t look the taller man in the eyes. Instead, he simply wheels himself to the kitchen table and waits for Erik to take a seat as well.

“Azazel.” It’s an order to leave and the red mutant complies without objection, leaving the smell of sulfur behind in the mansion’s kitchen.

“Riptide’s gone, Charles. We need a place to stay.”

 _The humans killed him_. Those words remain unspoken, but Charles reads between the lines anyway, helmet or no helmet.

“You’re fugitives now. Give me a good reason not to believe any of those reporters.”

Erik doesn’t need to think twice.

“You know me.”

Charles tries not to laugh. “Do I?”

“So you are not going to help us? What about Raven?”

 _Raven_ , not Mystique. _Subtle_.

“That’s low, Erik, even for you.”

Neither of them raise their voice.

“We do want the same thing. The survival of our species.”

“Not at the cost you deem necessary, my friend. I can’t condone unnecessary killing.”

“I’m not asking you to change what you stand for, Charles. I’m asking you to see that this is not unnecessary. I don’t regret killing the people I’ve killed.”

“That’s what scares me,” Charles replies, his words accompanied by a sigh.

“For what it’s worth, we didn’t kill those people. We didn’t blow up those buildings.”

Charles gives the older man a curt nod in the end. “I know. You wouldn’t take those risks. My home is still your home, Erik. It will always be your home.”

 

 

 

 

 

VII.

Charles explains the new situation to Hank, Alex and Sean before Erik and the others arrive. He doesn’t quite understand it himself, but he tries to paint a clear picture anyway. His students don’t look happy, but Charles sees that deep down they get the reasoning behind the agreement. Charles can only be thankful for small favors, but he’s convinced such a thing called reasoning is remarkably absent this time. He doesn’t mention that to Hank, Alex or Sean.

“Magneto didn’t kill those people?” Sean asks, succeeding in sounding both hopeful and scared. If they don’t have to fear Magneto and his brotherhood of mutants then, _maybe_ , they can find a way to communicate and share important information. Whether Charles likes it or not, they have common goals.

 _Magneto_. It hurts to hear that name, because using it somehow means cutting all previous connections. It reminds Charles that everything’s different now.

They all remember the incidents Sean is referring to. The murder of two CIA officials had only beenthe beginning of multiple bombings.

“I believe… _The Brotherhood_ ,” another name that tastes wrong in his mouth, “is being used as a scapegoat.”

Charles obviously means the bombings, no one doubts _Magneto_ , or one of his _soldier_ mutants killed those two CIA officials.

Charles continues, “It seems someone took advantage of their presence to kill more people.”

“So now we’re offering shelter to fugitives?” Alex asks, an exasperated look on his face.

“If that means keeping everyone safe and preventing more deaths. Yes, Alex.”

 

 

 

 

VIII.

“I don’t know how they find us that fast,” Erik admits, looking up from the chessboard in front of him. They’re not really focusing on the game, the board just serves as a buffer of sorts.

“A leak?” It sounds unlikely, but Charles offers the possibility anyway.

“Possibly. If someone’s talking to the CIA, Emma’s the only viable option and I’m sure she isn’t particularly fond of the government.”

Charles moves his rook. “She has no reason to work for the government. She only seems to work for herself.”

“She’s loyal,” Erik says. He tries hard not to make it sound like he’s doubting his own statement.

“She tells you everything you want to know about the others’ thoughts. That doesn’t leave a lot of other explanations. Unless another mutant’s helping the government.”

Erik nods. “I came to the same conclusion. Willingly or unwillingly, it doesn’t matter.”

“If that’s the case you’re not just making us accomplices. You’re putting all of us at risk.”

The small twinge of guilt he sees doesn’t fix anything.

Erik nods, before moving his bishop.

“We could leave again.”

They both know it’s an empty offer.

“You’re staying, Erik. _For now_. You won’t endanger your people and I won’t let you endanger yourself any further.” _We are stronger together_. “I have one condition,” Charles continues.

“Which is?”

“You don’t wear that bloody helmet here.”

“Fair enough.”

And Charles won’t even try to control Erik when the helmet’s finally removed, because deep down he knows he can’t be naïve right now. If they find and kill Erik, the government will come after the academy next, especially if they've really found a mutant to help them.

Later that night, Charles finds himself unable to sleep. He tells himself that all of this is just another ugly bump in the road and that it’s okay. He wants to believe it too.

 


	4. Before the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter ahead. You've been warned. I'm not particularly proud of this and might rewrite it later on.  
> Mistakes are still mine.

 

I.  
   
Charles fears he’s losing his sanity. Not that he can claim sanity was his strong suit before all of… _this_. Erik shouldn’t be here. Yet, _he is_ , down the hall opening a door that has been locked for over two months now.  
   
The first three days are the worst. Avoiding becomes a discipline worth being an expert in and Charles starts to wonder if he’s made the right decision.  Maybe there’s nothing he can do, maybe they are just sitting ducks here and _maybe_ they’re better off on the other side of the same coin, or on a different coin altogether.  
   
Charles hates the sight of coins these days, because like almost everything else, they’re just another reminder of the past and of a potential future that won’t be. Coins represent agony and death now. Only the present’s left, a current life he doesn’t want to be a part of.  
   
“Professor?”  
   
“Not now, _please_.” Why does he sound like he’s begging? This is his home, he shouldn’t have to beg for anything. It’s true, he’s a stranger now and the mansion’s filled with people who despise each other. That leaves him in the middle of everything, because he refuses to start a war and tries to be hospitable enough to everyone staying under his roof. It would be foolish to add fuel to the fire swallowing his home. Trying to be a pacifist sounds just as foolish one would argue. Still, they can’t fight now, not more than they’re already fighting. A distracted mind is a dead one in times of war.  
   
“It’s important,” Alex adds, “Erik’s trying to…”  
   
 _Of course_ that grabs his attention like nothing else.  
   
“Recruit us,” the young mutant finishes.  
   
Charles gently pokes Alex’ brain and sees that Erik is indeed trying to convince his students of The Brotherhood’s cause, but it’s nowhere near extreme persuasion. It’s like he’s just reminding the children of what he stands for, like he’s trying to convince himself first. _Strange_ _and unlike Erik_.  
   
Alex may be exaggerating a little, but that doesn’t mean he should just ignore the worry the young man’s broadcasting.  
   
“Professor?”  
   
“I will have a word with him.”  
   
But Alex remains standing in the door opening of his study.  
   
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Alex?” His words are accompanied by a barely hidden sigh. It’s not exactly polite, but he knows where this is going and he’s getting rather sick of these conversations.  
   
The boy looks torn between leaving and staying.  
   
“Yes, there _is_ something we need to talk about.” Alex sounds uncertain, hesitant even and Charles is not sure he’s ever seen him like this (except for maybe during his first training sessions).  
   
He sits down before Charles can offer him a seat.  
   
“You need to stop doing this.” The words come out sounding harsher than intended.  
   
“What would that be?” He can’t blame Alex. It’s only logical his students are worried and frustrated. It was only a matter of time before…  
   
“Did you draw the short straw? And no, I’m not reading your mind.”  
   
“We’re worried.”  
   
That’s a given.  
   
“It’s time you let us help you, because we need you to be our professor again.”  
   
 _And if you’re not willing to pick up the pieces, then we will._  
   
   
   
   
   
II.  
   
Sand. Wind.  
   
 _Confusion_.  
   
So many minds and not even one of them truly grasps the gravity of the situation.  
   
These missiles will dig through the clouds above them, plummet down from the sky and they will _kill_ , because that’s what they were made for. It doesn’t matter that they, the dangerous mutants with even more dangerous abilities, saved the world from Shaw.  
   
 _Erik’s right._  
   
A young American man in his early thirties sees the missiles turn and while despair enters his mind like a fast-spreading disease he only hopes his wife and children will be okay. The man’s even less aware of politics than his superiors, who should know more than they really do.  
   
There’s a cook on the Russian ship who sends a silent prayer to the god he believes in. He isn’t even supposed to be on this ship. He just needed the money.  
   
Four friends gather and share a final thought. They don’t want to die. They plead and cling to hope they don’t really believe in.  
    
So many minds, and so many potential losses.  
   
 _Erik’s wrong_.  
   
Most of these humans think they’re doing the right thing. They’ve never been more wrong in their life, but Charles senses their ignorance, their will to live and their despair. They aren’t the murderers Erik thinks they are, not all of them. They just… _don’t know_.  
   
When they die, Charles might die with them. Feeling the agonizing sensation of one man’s death, especially a man as powerful as Shaw, is enough to cause a mental breakdown.  
   
  _“Charles?”_  
   
A moment later he’s awake, a tired-looking Erik sitting in a chair next to his bed.  
   
“You were having a nightmare,” the older man supplies.  
   
“I distinctly remember locking the door,” Charles replies, while rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  
   
“I’m quite good at picking locks if I dare say so myself.”  
   
“I’m well aware of that. You had no right.”  
   
“You were projecting.”  
   
“I think you should go now. This is none of…”  
   
“None of my business? Making me experience one of your nightmares makes it my business, I believe. Especially since I seem to be the only one on the receiving end.”  
   
 _Small mercies_ , Charles tells himself. That just leaves Erik. Only, his old friend isn’t easy to fool.  
   
He struggles up and reaches for his chair, the other man’s eyes still trained on him. It’s uncomfortable and Charles would really like some form of privacy, especially after a dream like that. He can still feel the despair of those men and he finds himself trembling a little.  
   
Charles refuses to blame himself when he forgets about the brakes this time. They should’ve been on in the first place, he even remembers leaving them on.  
   
It doesn’t hurt when he hits the carpet. Even real pain, from the waist up, refuses to make him feel less numb.  
   
From his predicament on the floor Erik looks taller than ever before. The man does not look surprised. When he reaches down to lend Charles a hand, the Professor refuses to accept it.  
   
“I can take care of myself. I’m fine, I don’t need your help.”  
   
One extra bruise doesn’t change anything, especially if the man trying to help you tampered with the brakes of your wheelchair. He wouldn’t put it past Erik. In a cruel way it makes sense too.  
   
“Wie du [möchtest](http://www.dict.cc/deutsch-englisch/m%C3%B6chtest.html). You really are too stubborn for your own good, Charles.”  
   
Charles feels like an idiot when Erik walks out of his bedroom and locks the door behind him. There’s no way he’s going to be able to get back in his chair without help. Erik’s unrelenting.  
   
The first hour Charles just closes his eyes and pretends nothing’s happened. It passes slowly, but not as slowly as the second hour.  
   
Out of pure boredom he turns to the knowledge his brain possesses and convinces himself he’s still Charles Xavier, a genetics professor.  
   
He knows things, both trivial matters and important ones. He knows that gingers have two copies of a recessive gene on their sixteenth chromosome, causing mutation.  
   
He knows it’s impossible to have brown eyes when both of your parents have blue. Unless your father is not your father or your mother is not your mother.  
   
He knows… he knows he can’t afford to be alone.  
   
He could call one of his students, but he doesn’t want them to see him like this, helpless, _yet again_. And Erik, Erik’s practically waiting for him to call out. Both options aren’t very appealing.  
   
 _‘I’m only going to say this once,’_ he sends, _‘I’m a fool and I need your help.’_  
   
 _‘I’ll be right there,’_ he gets in return, the mental words accompanied by what feels like too much satisfaction.  
   
He can’t hate Erik. It would make everything so much easier, but he just can’t.  
   
When the door finally unlocks and opens, Charles refuses to lift his head and look at Erik.  
   
“What did they say?” he asks instead.  
   
“What did who say?” Erik plays dumb.  
   
“I don’t have to be a telepath to know you’ve been talking to my students, Erik.”  
   
Ignoring the statement, Erik lifts the wheelchair.  
   
“Erik?”  
   
“They’re worried about you,” Erik informs before moving to the professor and crouching down beside him, not touching the man just yet. “They refused to talk to me at first and ignored me when I tried to tell them I only want the best for our species.”  
   
It takes every inch of Charles’ willpower not to interrupt him.  
   
“Bed or chair?” Erik asks, sounding completely casual.  
   
It’s still early, but he won’t be sleeping for the rest of the day. “Chair.” At his nod of acceptance, the older man slips his right arm under his knees and his other under his back. Charles clings to Erik’s shoulders to make sure he doesn’t hit the floor again anytime soon.  
   
As soon as he’s settled in the wheelchair, Erik continues his explanation.  
   
“I think we realized we have something in common worth talking about.”  
   
 _Someone_ , he adds as a thought.  
   
“I doubt my students told you to tamper with my brakes, Erik.” Somehow, he succeeds in keeping the anger out of his voice.  
   
“You’re not helpless, Charles. But you _are_ living in an illusion.”  
   
‘ _The past is not coming back.’_ The words feel like a soft and sad whisper when they enter Charles’ mind.  There’s guilt attached to them.  
   
   
   
   
III.  
   
“You would make a good teacher,” Charles states matter-of-factly during a game of chess the next day.  
   
“You’re going to put classes on mass destruction on the academy’s curriculum?”  
   
It’s strange how they succeed in making this friendship seem like a very normal one. Of course, their words are just a fantasy. Erik will be leaving again and it’s only a matter of time.  
   
 “That’s not funny, Erik. You’d be unconventional but efficient.” He immediately steers the conversation away from Erik’s joke. Exaggeration or not, there’s some truth to Erik’s words. His will to destroy those things, and humans by extension, that get in his way is disconcerting to say the least.  
   
“I didn’t know,” Erik admits, earning a surprised look from the telepath. He moves his queen so he doesn’t have to make eye contact.  
   
“Know what?”  
   
“The coin.”  
   
 _‘Oh.’_  
   
“Why did you… You could’ve just let go.”  
   
 _I couldn’t lose my best friend_. It’s only a fleeting thought, but the urge to send it to Erik’s mind is there nevertheless.  
   
“I couldn’t let Shaw kill you. There’s still hope for you even if you don’t see it,” he says instead. “We need to discuss what’s happening, Erik.”  
   
“I fear it’s only a matter of time before the government finds us,” Erik acknowledges.  
   
“I’m not sure I can keep all of us safe. I don’t sense an imminent threat but that doesn’t mean there’s no danger.”  
   
Charles doesn’t mention the mansion’s escape routes. He’s allowed to have secrets concerning his home’s security. _Only in case of emergency_ and Charles’ definition of emergency isn’t reflected by his current surroundings. He also forgets to mention the telepathic shields that surround the mansion. If someone dares trespass, his mind will alert him and that’s all that matters.  
   
Charles tells himself that Erik wouldn’t be here if he didn’t truly believe in combined strength. What saddens Charles is not the fact that he keeps lying to himself, it’s the prospect of waking up in the near future. All of this is temporary, for _now_ and not forever.  
   
“Let us worry about all of this tomorrow.”  
   
The telepath offers a genuine smile and he realizes that his life hasn’t felt this real in a long time.  
   
   
   
   
   
   
IV.  
   
Maybe if he closes his eyes the earth will stop revolving around the sun. His rational side, the scientist in him, explains how that’s a bad idea while his emotional side just wants everything to stop moving.  
   
It’s only when everything stops moving for real he realizes he needs to have a talk with his subconscious.  
   
“Charles, if you want to have a conversation we can just go to your study. You don’t have to freeze everyone.” There’s a hint of amusement in Erik’s voice when he enters the kitchen.  
   
Sean, Alex and Raven are the only people in the kitchen with them. The other members of The Brotherhood keep their distance and Hank spends most of his time working in the lab and avoiding Raven. They look confused when they unfreeze and their confusion is followed by surprise realization and more confusion.  
   
“Did you just freeze us, Charles?” Raven sounds annoyed, but the emotions she projects are a lot closer to worry.  
   
 “I’m sorry,” Charles offers while pretending he doesn’t see the looks exchanged between his two students and his old friend. There’s more than meets the eye, but he still refuses to enter their minds to find out. He supposes he should be grateful Erik and his students are talking at all.    
   
   
   
   
   
V.  
   
Charles is talking to Hank in the lab when he feels a foreign mind on the mansion’s grounds. More minds follow and their thoughts are dark enough for Charles to wince when he senses them.  
   
“… if we want to rebuild Cerebro. Professor?”  
   
“Get the others. I’ll show you where to go.”  
   
Hank sees a hidden entrance in the basement and flashes of a corridor leading to safety.  
   
 _‘Erik, forgive me for this,’_ he thinks before making sure Erik will go along with his plan. _‘Follow Hank tonight. They won’t kill me yet.’_  
   
“Where are _you_ going?” Hank wonders out loud.  
   
Charles was expecting this question, but he doesn’t want to answer it.  
   
“Go now, Hank. You don’t have much time,” he says in a tone that leaves no room for objection. “I’ll be fine.”  
   
It’s a lie, because he knows what they want, _who_ they want and it’s not Erik or any of the children. It’s not The Brotherhood at all. Killing Magneto’s just a wonderful extra. No, there’s one familiar mind that tells him as much. He can’t risk anyone dying tonight.  
   
 _‘Anna?’_ he sends and what he gets in return terrifies him. The girl’s guilt is overwhelming, but she doesn’t reply and he doesn’t enter her mind yet. The soldiers demand his attention first. None of the ones he can feel are carrying weapons, but when he uses one of them as a window, he can see the ones wearing helmets are. This is a test.  
   
 _‘I’ll go with you if you let the girl go. You won’t need her if you have me.’_    
   
He freezes every other soldier not wearing a helmet.  
   
One of the older soldiers, clearly in charge, steps forward and waves his hand, ordering the girl to run. It’s strange to see it through another man’s eyes, but somehow the soldier leading these men seems to take his word for it. It’s like he knows Charles isn’t lying about going with them, like it doesn’t matter that he’s not even physically present while making this deal. Either they are smug and overconfident or they know things that are impossible to know.  
   
Charles doesn’t have to show Anna the hidden entrance, she knows exactly where to go. Her gift will show her and he can only hope she’ll find the others.  
   
 _This is too easy_ , he thinks and his thoughts are confirmed when the soldier in charge raises his gun and fires a bullet, aimed for the mutant girl running for her life.  
   
 _‘Keep running,’_ he sends as he uses the closest soldier’s body to step in front of the bullet. _‘I’m sorry’_ are the last words on his mind before losing consciousness.  
   
tbc


	5. Limits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra warning: this chapter is a lot darker (violence-wise). I don't think it's too graphic, but then I'm not sure I'm good at being the judge of that.  
> You can find the translations at the end of this chapter but I don't think you'll need them to figure out what they're saying.  
> I still need to re-read this, so mistakes are mine (I'll take my time to cringe when I see them). Also, this was difficult to write, just like the last chapter since this is all Charles' pov.

I.

   
Something’s beeping when he wakes up. It’s not an unfamiliar sound, unfortunately. A heart monitor was his annoying companion for a very long time during his hospital stay.  
   
 _‘My heart’s still beating. I can’t be dead,’_ he thinks before remembering the girl and the soldiers.  
   
When he finally opens his eyes he finds himself on a slightly uncomfortable bed in a glass cell. His wrists are secured to the bed, his skin surrounded by metal cuffs. Erik would have a field day destroying this place. _Erik_. Erik will find him, get him out of here and when they’re safe Erik will kill him with his bare hands for making him believe following Hank’s orders was what he really wanted that night. Yesterday, Charles hopes. They didn’t bother securing his feet to the bed. Why would they? They _did_ take the time to remove his shoes for some reason.  
   
Charles moves his head to the right and his eyes fall on a table and just a few chairs behind the glass.  There’s a corridor in the back of the room which Charles suspects is his only way out of this place. Only, he can’t sense anyone, not a single mind, and it’s only obvious that the glass he’s surrounded by isn’t actual glass.  
   
Even when the door opens approximately three hours later (Charles can’t be sure), he still doesn’t sense a single soul.  
   
“You’re awake, Xavier,” a voice states the obvious. Most of the man’s face is hidden by a helmet, not as fancy as Erik’s but just as efficient blocking his telepathy.  
   
“I still plan on waking up soon.”  
   
The man, Charles decides to call Maurice because he reminds him of an ignorant fool he used to know, gives him a broad smile. It’s one of the creepiest things he’s ever seen.  
   
“This doesn’t have to be a nightmare. I assure you that I won’t harm you if you cooperate.”  
   
The man’s words are more threatening than they are reassuring.  
   
“That could just as well imply that you hire people to do the dirty work for you.”  
   
“I won’t argue with that,” Maurice replies, encompassing Charles arm with his hand, right above the metal cuff circling his right wrist.  
   
While Maurice is busy trying to make him feel even more uncomfortable, Charles tunes out and reaches out with his telepathy. It may feel useless at first, but the young professor convinces himself it won’t stay useless. He will touch a mind soon, hopefully a familiar one willing to help him escape.  
   
Maurice stops talking, clearly noticing his lack of interest. “Trust me, by the end of your second week here you’ll be working for us.”  
   
Convincing himself that everything’s going to be okay, that everything is okay, Charles pretends he doesn’t care.  
   
“I don’t plan on staying for two weeks. The room service leaves quite a bit to be desired I’m afraid.”  
   
It’s not the smartest thing that’s ever come out of his mouth, but sarcasm seems to be the only thing that’ll get him through this thing. The expression on Maurice’s face makes it all worth it too.  
   
   
   
   
   
II.  
   
The next day it’s still not clear why they want him here. Why they want to kill Erik, but keep him alive. Maybe they consider him easier to deal with. They probably want him to find other mutants, but there’s more to that story.  
   
All he needs to know is that his students, sister and his old friend are okay, that they got away. He can keep going if they’re safe. It also means that they’ll do everything in their power to find him as soon as possible. If he’s honest with himself he has to admit that he can’t wait for this place to disappear. It’s one of the very few reasons he decided to offer himself up like that. If they don’t lose sleep over kidnapping teenagers and killing them, then Charles doubts these men can be redeemed. It’s better to make everything disappear in one go.  
   
It’s a sad thought, but not seeing this piece of truth would be worse. Erik’s rubbing off on him. Then again, he’s never been _that_ naïve. If, no _when_ , Erik brings this place down, he won’t be the one stopping his old friend. This has nothing to do with killing humans and saving mutants, but everything with common sense.  
   
   
   
III.  
   
Maurice visits every day. While Charles isn’t exactly comfortable, the man hasn’t resorted to any real violence yet. A few bruises don’t count. Charles tries his very best to keep track of time, as much as his drugged mind allows.  
   
There’s a doctor of some kind too, fascinated with his blood, but Charles wouldn’t bet any good money on the man having an actual framed degree on his wall at home. The shades of purple on his arm are just proof his thoughts aren’t that far-fetched.  
   
They go easy on him the first three days and if he wasn’t tied to a bed, drugged out of his mind, he might consider this facility a hotel. But then drugs, or alcohol for that matter, tend to change your perspective. He likes lying to himself these days, that too.  
   
   
   
IV.  
   
Maurice, who wears that bloody helmet like he wears his skin, has an experiment he’d like to carry out.  
   
“I suggest you cooperate,” he says with a misplaced smile on his face.  
   
They send in a middle-aged man, hands cuffed behind his back, who looks more confused than he is. It probably has something to do with the black eye he’s sporting and a possible concussion. They drag a chair into the room and push him down in it before securing the cuffs to it.     
   
“This man killed two of my soldiers and tried to start a fire. I’d like to find out what he knows.”  
   
 _There’s a catch_ , Charles guesses.  
   
“I have my methods to get the information I need, but somehow having a telepath on my side seems easier.”  
   
As soon as he touches the man’s mind, Charles realizes what the real problem is. This man only speaks Dutch.  
   
“I’m a telepath, not an interpreter.”  
   
“Nice try, Xavier. If you refuse to do this… well, let’s just say you won’t like the alternative very much.” Maurice waves his gun just to stress the point he’s trying to make.  
   
“I don’t think I can. I’m not as powerful as you seem to think I am.”  
   
“Now you’re just disappointing me,” Maurice says, raising his gun and pressing it against the man in the chair’s head.  
   
“I’ll try.”  
   
Charles focuses all of his attention on the other man’s language skills and wonders if they really know how easy this is for him. He doesn’t want to do this, but something, other than the obvious gun near the Dutch man’s face, tells him that he won’t be the one dying today if he doesn’t comply.  
   
 _‘Hij heeft mijn vrouw vermoord,’_ the man thinks. Multiple disturbing images accompany that single thought. Charles can’t help closing his eyes when he sees a young woman on a bed covered in a lot of her own blood.  
   
“Xavier,” Maurice’s voice brings him back to reality.  
   
“You killed his wife, but somehow I think you remember that.”  
   
A chuckle rings through the glass room. “Ah yes, I quite enjoyed that.”  
   
“If you know all of this then you know why he’s here.”  
   
“Not all of it unfortunately, only the good parts. A motive like revenge doesn’t tell me if he talked to anyone else about my little… endeavour here.”  
   
 _‘You’re sick,’_ Charles thinks but doesn’t say. It would only make the man feel proud of himself.  
   
“Don’t keep me waiting.”  
   
Charles focuses on the man’s mind again, thoughts scrambled by fear, rage and despair.  
   
 _‘Ik heb geen bewijzen. Ik heb geen bewijzen,’_ he repeats over and over again, but Charles sees through the lie right away. This man has evidence against Maurice and his facility, a lot of it. Charles can see the man’s apartment and where he keeps the files hidden. Lying to a telepath makes just as much sense as pushing a boy off a satellite to teach him how to fly. It doesn’t, but at the same time _it does_.  
   
 _‘Shhh. Kalm,’_ he sends a wave of reassurance. _‘Ik zeg er niets over.’_  
   
The Dutch man looks up for the first time, trust readable in his eyes, trust Charles doesn’t think he deserves.  
   
“He doesn’t know anything else,” Charles says, confirming he keeps his word. It won’t change anything either way, from the looks of it.  
   
Maurice doesn’t look impressed at all.  
   
 _‘Het spijt me,’_ Charles sends before the bullet exits Maurice’s gun.  He seems to be apologizing a lot these days.  
   
“This is for lying to me,” Maurice says, not wasting any time when he unsheathes a dagger and brings it down, allowing the metal to slide through Charles’ hand. The younger man’s cry of agony is ignored and the dagger’s left In place.  
   
   
   
V.  
   
He’s leaning against the glass wall when he wakes up, legs sprawled in front of him. Pain immediately draws his attention to the appendage lying in his lap. There’s blood on the bandage but not as much as there should be. The pull of stitches confirms that someone attempted to stop the bleeding.  
   
Charles doesn’t bother looking up when Maurice enters his glass cell.  
   
“I decided to make you a little less comfortable,” the older man informs.  
   
It wouldn’t be wise, but if anything, Charles wants to laugh, because it’s hilarious.  
   
“I wasn’t comfortable before,” he says instead, still not looking up.  
   
 _‘I might bloody well kill you if I get the chance.’_  
   
 Of course Maurice doesn’t get his telepathic message.  
   
“I did have the decency to remove the body, but I know what you’re thinking. It’s beneficial to my sense of smell as well.”  
   
“Why don’t you just kill me? I’m not going to work for you.” Charles doesn’t want to support his own words, but somewhere deep down a lot still hasn’t healed and he can’t help imagining this kind of escape might just be easier for everyone.  
   
“I have to admit you’re… resilient, but let me remind you that you’ve only been here for a week. I know what you’re thinking. The Brotherhood’s just an inconvenience, Xavier. Garbage we need to dispose of as soon as possible. It’s a shame they got away, but they won’t be coming to your rescue. You’re alone.”  
   
Charles still refuses to reply or believe anything the man’s saying.  
   
“I’ll let you in on a little secret. I can tell when people lie because I’m a mutant. Just like you. Unlike the government I believe mutants and humans can work together to achieve common goals. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”  
   
The government may be after Erik, but it’s not just the government they have to worry about from now on.  
   
“Depends on those common goals. This conversation is ridiculous.”  
   
“Depends on the audience,” Maurice points out, before showing Charles a rather familiar dagger. “You remember this, don’t you? This is what’s going to happen. In a few minutes one of my men’s going to come in and you’re going to kill him with your mind _or_ _I_ am going to kill him slowly with this knife. Your wish will be my command.”  
   
Charles presses his head against the glass behind him and closes his eyes. He hears the footsteps and Maurice’s command to remove the helmet.  
   
“Do it, Xavier.”  
   
Instead he whispers the word _sleep_ and the soldier collapses.  
   
“You really don’t get it, do you?” Maurice asks, stabbing the man once, then twice. “But I suppose it’s good to know you can put people in a coma if necessary.”  
   
Charles focuses on breathing while keeping his eyes squeezed shut. He only half succeeds in blocking what’s going on on the other side of his glass prison.  
   
He stays like that for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Hij heeft mijn vrouw vermoord - He killed my wife  
> Ik heb geen bewijzen - I don't have evidence  
> Kalm - calm  
> ik zeg er niets over - I won't tell him about it  
> Het spijt me - I'm sorry


	6. Improvement

I.  
   
A million options cross Charles’ mind when the glass of two walls shatters, but rescue isn’t one of them. Charles still refuses to look up, but he imagines he can feel Erik’s mind and see through his eyes as the remnants of one of Sean’s screeches reverberate through the room, what’s left of his glass prison. With a wave of his hand, Erik orders Sean and Alex to move back and give them some space. He can see it with his eyes closed.  
   
“Charles?”  
   
Erik’s voice sounds so real, uncertain and filled with emotion, unlike the Erik who told him to stop pretending. It’s not real. Rescue has become too beautiful to be real and freedom might never be real again.  
   
“Charles?” the illusion repeats.  
   
But Charles can’t and won’t show recognition. It’s a trap. He senses _fake Erik_ ’s urge to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. He senses the worry, but Erik still refuses to touch him, because Erik’s not Erik at all and illusions can’t touch.  
   
 _‘I don’t want to startle you.’_  
   
“It’s me, Charles. It’s Erik.” Right here, in this godforsaken place Erik refuses to be Magneto.  
   
Charles keeps his right cheek pressed against the glass wall, making it impossible for anyone to see most of his face. Even with his eyes closed he can feel a presence crouch down beside him. Maurice is just playing one of his games and if he looks up now and sees Erik’s face he won’t be able to tell the difference.  
   
The pressure of a familiar hand on his shoulder breaks through his defenses like a knife cuts through butter.   
   
 _‘Leave me alone,’_ he broadcasts.  
   
It’s only when Erik tries to get his attention by sending thoughts and, more importantly, memories, Charles dares to open his mind a little more. Trust takes time, something Erik the illusion doesn’t seem to have.   
   
Moving his head a little to the left, he finally orders his eyelids to move.  
   
“Erik?” His voice doesn’t carry the words like it should. What comes out of his mouth is a strangled whisper at most.   
   
 _‘Yes, it’s me, Charles. It’s me.’_ The words enter his mind while they refuse to leave Erik’s lips. Charles clings to Erik’s presence, the sheer familiarity of the older man’s mind. The telepath feels power and rage course through his friend’s veins.   
   
There’s no room for serenity when Charles unintentionally sends him flashes of what’s happened. All he receives now is that _they will suffer for this_ , Erik will see to it.  
   
 _‘Calm your mind,’_ he sends. He doesn’t intend to send more images of the last few days, but somehow the remaining drugs in his system render him incapable of controlling his own thoughts. He fights to keep the feelings of despair, helplessness and even hatred to himself.  No man should have to kill for him, least of all Erik. Erik… who has seen too much death already.  
   
Before he even realizes, Erik’s staring at him.  
   
 _‘Are you okay?’_ Erik thinks but seems to regret it the second he looks into Charles’ blue eyes.  
   
“They took my shoes,” Charles voices a seemingly random thought, but according to Erik’s mind it’s the most beautiful thing he has heard in days.  
   
“My shoes,” Charles repeats, clearly dumbfounded, while staring at his motionless legs sprawled out in front of him.  
   
For a second Erik wonders if they took his friend’s sanity as well.  
   
 _‘Not quite,’_ Charles sends back in reply, followed by a humorless chuckle. “No, Erik. I’m most definitely _not_ okay.”  
   
Erik’s speechless.  
   
“I’d like to get out of here now,” Charles whispers, reaching out with his right hand, the one appendage that isn’t somehow damaged.  
   
This time Erik doesn’t hesitate at all and allows his friend to latch on, as if he’s a lifeline of some kind. Ironic, because this is just another one of those things Erik thinks Charles should hate him for. Charles will never be capable of hating Erik.  
   
Erik tries to be as gentle as possible when he lifts Charles, but a weak moan still escapes the telepath’s lips.  
   
He’s about to apologize, Charles realizes.  
   
“Please… _don’t_.”  
   
As they move to corridors Charles doesn’t recognize, Erik makes sure there’s always someone ahead to take care of unexpected company.  
   
“They’re gone,” Charles manages to whisper, but gets no reply. “They’re all gone.” _Or dead_. The other man just continues carrying him, through yet another corridor. Being cradled like this should be embarrassing, _would_ be embarrassing, if Charles had any sense of pride left.  
   
His head resting on Erik’s shoulder, the telepath allows himself to close his eyes again. A feeling of safety overwhelms him and it shouldn’t because they’re not completely safe yet.  
   
But… they’re all gone. Most of them escaped, but the others... He should hate himself for liking the possibility of Maurice being a part of the death toll. Out of all the questions his brain demands an answer to, he finds himself wondering if a man (a monster, yes) is dead. Maybe he’s even hoping for it.   
   
All he has to do to find out is…  He can reach out and touch Erik’s mind, discover the truth. He could dig through Erik’s recent memories just like that, memories of dead people that shouldn’t even be a part of Erik’s mind. Yet, they are very real; Erik killed because of him. Erik killed mutants because of him. _For him_.  For a split second a thought crosses Charles’ mind. What if Erik doesn’t know he killed mutants? A ridiculous thought, Charles decides. Of course he knows.    
   
The last thing Charles notices before passing out is the slightly creepy, but very reassuring smile on Erik’s face. It’s obvious the metal bender still plans on tracking down everyone who got away. He certainly doesn’t plan on having an innocent discussion over a game of chess.  
   
With a bit of an effort Charles sends one more thought to his friend’s mind.  
   
 _‘That won’t be necessary, my friend.’_  
   
   
   
II.  
   
Charles wakes up to the sight of a familiar ceiling. _Mansion_ , one of the rooms near Hank’s lab. The bed’s almost too comfortable to be real. His left hand aches, but the pain’s dulled by whatever’s in the IV, as is his mind.  
   
“You should hate me.”  
   
Charles follows the voice to its owner, moving his eyes away from his damaged hand which is covered in more bandages than necessary.  
   
“But I don’t,” he tells Erik.  
   
“I said you _should_. I don’t get how you can be so-”  
   
 “Naïve? Maybe… I should hate you, yes. “ Erik waits for the telepath to continue. “Hating someone’s… exhausting.”  
   
 _‘Especially when you’re trying to hate someone you care about.’_ Charles doesn’t know if the thought reaches his friend.  
   
When Erik gets up to pour him a glass of water (Hank’s orders he guesses), it looks a lot like he’s avoiding eye contact. Charles doesn’t really mind. If anything, knowing his friend’s having a difficult time dealing with this makes him feel a little less... desperate. Demons tend to be easier to defeat when you’re not alone. He wonders, as Erik supports his head to help him drink, if the other man’s just as clueless as he is. In all honesty, he doesn’t know where any of this is going.  
   
“Thank you,” he whispers and watches Erik place the cup on the nightstand once again.  
   
 “I tried hating you, Erik,” he says a few minutes later. “I really did, but the truth is quite simple. I can’t.”  
   
“I should get Hank, let him know you’re awake,” Erik says, avoiding questions Charles might come up with. Something’s not quite right.  
   
It doesn’t take long for Erik to return, Hank in tow.  
   
“It’s good to see you, Hank.” He can’t help the smile forming on his lips, because it really is good to see the young scientist.  
   
“It’s good to see you too, professor. How are you feeling?”  
   
“Tired,” Charles admits, a yawn accompanying his words as if on cue.  
   
“You should get some more rest, your body needs time to heal.”  
   
“My hand?” he wonders out loud, his eyes drifting to the pillow supporting the damaged appendage. Both Erik and Hank seem to be avoiding the subject.  
   
When Hank starts his explanation he clearly refrains from using the word _lucky_ even if it’s on his mind. “The… knife didn’t do as much damage as it could’ve done. It’ll take some time, but you should be okay.”  
   
It’s more of a relief than he’s willing to admit, but his heart refuses to feel any less heavy.  
   
Somewhere in between Hank’s explanation of how they contacted a doctor, mutant and friend of Hank’s to perform surgery and his explanation of how worried they were, Charles’ focus moves to Erik. It’s an image that draws his attention and it doesn’t have anything to do with his captivity but everything with Erik’s past.  He sees a bar in Argentina, a pig farmer and a tailor. Then there’s a knife with the words ‘Blut und Ehre’. He only gets flashes, as if Erik’s trying to keep from projecting. Charles knows where this is going and when Erik brings the knife down he squeezes his eyes shut.  
   
“Professor? Charles?”  
   
After sucking in a deep breath he returns his attention to Hank again, avoiding eye contact with Erik.  
   
“I’m sorry, Hank. I don’t quite feel like myself.”  
   
 _‘Oh Erik,’_ escapes his mind at the same time.  
   
“I’d like to be alone please,” he adds, his voice barely above a whisper.  
   
Hank nods in reply, knowing fully well it’s easy enough for Charles to contact him if necessary. Erik’s more reluctant, as if he knows Charles is about to break down. The older man sits down again as soon as Hank closes the makeshift infirmary’s door behind him.  
   
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Don’t you dare try to pretend you’re-”  
   
“I’m not,” Charles replies before Erik can continue. They’re not having this conversation again. He doesn’t need another reminder of the past right now, the situation’s painful enough as it is. He senses the surprise on Erik’s mind when a tear finally rolls down. All he can cling to as his walls collapse and more tears follow is the pressure of Erik’s hand on his own.  
   
“I’m not going anywhere,” Erik says, a _for now_ still attached to the words, but the thought behind them not any less comforting.  
   
   
III.  
   
For now turns into two months and nineteen days. The government’s still after the Brotherhood, but the CIA agents are not the threat Erik gave them credit for all those months ago. Charles knows his friend is still trying to process the idea of other mutants trying to harm their own kind. Charles’ left hand will always carry a scar, a reminder of what mutants, just like humans, are capable of.  
   
While Shaw was probably more dangerous than _Maurice_ (Charles is not sure he wants to know the man’s real name), he didn’t kill other mutants for the fun of it. Maurice got away and even while Erik destroyed his facility, he is still a danger they need to be aware of. For now, Charles believes they’re safe, but the thought that someone like him is still out there…  
   
He knows now, more than ever how dangerous this world can be, but that’s an exaggeration because he’s known for years.  
   
A month before Erik’s departure they finally discuss what’s next.  
   
“I’m not going to run and give up on my dream, Erik.”  
   
They’re sitting at the table in the kitchen.  
   
“At the risk of putting yourself and your students in danger?” It’s a valid question, one that needs consideration.  
   
“So many mutants out there need guidance and a lot of them a new home. If I start a school somewhere else, he’ll find us just as easily. That is if he plans on regrouping at all.” Charles refuses to call him Maurice in front of Erik. His academy’s supposed to be known amongst mutants in the future, that’s part of the idea.  
   
“You know this man is not going to give up because you want him to.”  
   
Charles squeezes the rubber ball Hank gave him to help increase the strength in his hand. It still hurts, but less every day.  
   
“Then I will do everything in my power to be ready if he does decide to seek revenge.”  
   
   
   
IV.  
   
It’s obvious Charles’ students appreciate Erik’s help in getting their professor back. They may not be best friends, but they are willing to put their differences aside if the situation demands it. Charles couldn’t be more proud of them. It’s the right thing to do, but there’s more than that; they miss their time together as a team, the time before that day on the beach. It hurts to realize nothing will ever be the same again. Charles can only wonder if they know how much everything still is.  
   
Charles hates himself when he shows too much emotion near any of them, but at the same time he’s willing to allow his vulnerable side to show. It helps that no one seems to pity him as much as before. In fact, it’s as if his students seem to appreciate him even more. It becomes easier to accept their help too. He _needs_ their help and it would only be foolish to refuse it or convince himself of the opposite.  
   
Anna stays because she has nowhere else to go after the death of her parents. She grieves, but at the same time she seeks and finds comfort in the knowledge she’s not alone. The guilt she carries is still overwhelming at times, but Charles isn’t worried, not too much, because he believes in how strong she is even if she doesn’t always see it herself. He really does have complete and utter faith in his students and in the knowledge Sean, Alex and Hank will take care of her.  
   
Charles knows they will all be fine. They will heal. He knows it just like he knows how genetic mutations work.  
   
   
   
   
V.  
   
Sometimes being a telepath complicates matters. Surprises become strangely predictable and suspicious behaviour gets an explanation before the people involved open their mouth. Charles doesn’t always use his telepathy to invade people’s minds like that, not on purpose; but sometimes when thoughts get so loud they’re hard to ignore he can’t help tuning in. He steers away from the more personal thoughts out of respect. Per their own view he shouldn’t have to hide his mutation, even if it’s inconvenient, least of all from the people he knows and trusts.  
   
“I talked to Hank today,” Raven admits one evening. “I’m sorry.”  
   
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s in the past and if anyone-”  
   
“Hear me out, Charles. I’m sorry for being a hypocrite. I’m sorry for not realizing how much you care about me.”  
   
“You’re stunning, Raven. I should’ve told you every day. You’re stunning in your natural form and in any other form. _I’m_ sorry.”  
   
He can see she’s having a difficult time keeping her emotions under control.  
   
“I forgive you, but I disagree,” Raven says, “that CIA guy, what’s his name? Stryker? He’s not stunning at all.”  
   
Charles chuckles in reply. “I’m certain he’s stunning to someone.”  
   
Raven grabs his hand and leans forward to place a kiss on his cheek.  
   
“Apology accepted?” she asks.  
   
“Before you asked.”  
   
   
   
VI.  
   
When Charles sees the new and, according to both Hank and Erik, _improved_ Cerebro, he wonders what he’s done to deserve this. It still takes some getting used to the idea that people (other than Raven) care enough to surprise him like this. It’s strange because Erik is still leaving and Raven will follow, _but_ he’s not going to be alone when they do. He wasn’t alone last time, he was just a bloody idiot not to realize it. Starting a school for mutants sounds like a great idea and Hank, Alex, Sean and even Anna will be right there to help him (even if they still need guidance themselves). Who is he kidding? So does he and it can only be a good sign he’s willing to admit it now, even if it’s just to himself.  
   
“I’m impressed,” Charles manages to say after an era of speechlessness.  
   
The design’s not that different, but more compact and definitely easier to use for someone in a wheelchair. He throws glances at both Erik and Hank before moving his wheelchair closer to the new Cerebro.  
   
“I’d like to try it out,” he admits and gets an immediate nod from the young scientist. Hank doesn’t bother hiding his own enthusiasm.  
   
“I was hoping you would.”  
   
Cerebro has the same effect on him, but apart from blowing his mind by granting him the possibility to feel so many people’s thoughts, it also makes him feel _useful_ and _alive_.  
   
“Thank you,” he says when he removes the headpiece a little while later.  
   
“You really didn’t know?” Erik wonders out loud, suspicion in his voice.  
   
“I… I knew the two of you were up to something and that it was something worth your time, but I never looked far enough to discover what exactly.”  
   
Only Erik follows Charles out of the lab after Hank claims he needs to work on a different project.  
   
“Is this a parting gift of some kind?” the professor asks as soon as they’re alone in the corridor.  
   
“I suppose you could call it that.”  
   
Charles hands still and he waits for his wheelchair to stop.  “Erik. I don’t believe I ever thanked you for getting me out of there.”  
   
Charles feels Erik’s urge to continue walking, but the older man stops anyway. “There are so many reasons why you shouldn’t thank me,” he says.  
   
“Regardless of what you believe I should be blaming you for… _Thank you_ , Erik.”  
   
“Will you be okay on your own?”  
   
“I won’t be on my own.” They both know it’s true.  
   
“I’ll take that as a yes. Good luck with your school, Charles.”  
   
“Goodbye, my friend.”  
   
Erik gives him a small smile that says more than words can. So many things remain unspoken and too many questions are left unanswered when Erik leaves. It’s hard to predict what the future might bring, but that instant Charles knows one thing for sure: Erik will leave, but he won’t be gone.  
   
 **The end**


End file.
